Uncle Phil
by dudeurfugly
Summary: Coulson receives an unusual file while on an extended vacation courtesy of SHIELD that contains the information for his newest case. He never pictured himself a family man, but a little girl with his namesake and a lot of amazing parents might change that. Part of The Avengers Amalgamation 'verse, but it can stand alone as well. Now a two-shot.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except Amy. **

**A/N: This is a side-fic to The Avengers Amalgamation. A bit of a teaser, I guess! Hope you enjoy it. Drop me a line on your way out!**

* * *

This whole 'not working' thing was difficult for a man like Coulson who loved his job despite its stresses and hazards. Yes, it left him with sleepless nights bent over case files and field reports. Yes, he had been exposed to strange situations and people he could never unsee. And yes, okay, it had almost killed him. Almost. But he had survived getting a cosmic scepter wielded by a deranged 'god' shoved through his back without any permanent damage except for a slight twinge if he overextended himself. He was pretty damn lucky.

Despite playing dead, and months of recuperation in a SHIELD-secure hospital, and Fury royally screwing up his collection of vintage Captain America cards, Coulson was anxious to get back into the field. Being laid up in a hospital bed with the constant news coverage of The Avengers all over the TV made the separation worse; he wanted nothing more than to call a meeting, congratulate the team, and hey, a bottle of champagne didn't sound too bad, either. He had nearly succeeded in weaseling his way out of the hospital undetected (he wasn't a top-level agent for nothing) until the one of the orderlies who met the business end of his afternoon meal tray alerted Fury. The man didn't even have the sympathy to give him a report to keep him preoccupied while he was trapped in that white-washed room with the stiff bed sheets.

He was thankful, at least, for the_ Supernanny_ reruns.

When Coulson thought he was in the clear and ready to don his black suit again, Fury had other ideas. _Vacation until further notice_ was on the top of the list. They had some technicalities to wrap up about Coulson's status at work, so Fury met him at the hospital, pushed a plane ticket into his hand, and told him to get cozy. Cozy meant no field reports, no black suit, no case files, no champagne-filled parties with the team he wanted to shake hands with and thank until he was blue in the face. Cozy was Fury's code for a tiny island in Cape Verde—beautiful white sand beaches, crystalline waters, sunshine, and all the free time in the world. It looked like something he'd only seen in a desktop background back at HQ.

The island was a secluded resort bought out by SHIELD and used for agents when they needed down time, a place to hide, or refuge for family. Or, apparently, when top-level agents had to play dead. Coulson, who hadn't exactly spent too many consecutive days in one place (especially not alone), had a private villa and beach. And, lo and behold, a closet full of tropical attire. No black suits. No shirts and ties. Just light button-downs and cargo shorts and barely any shoes _until further notice_.

Vacation was a foreign concept to him. But, well, he tried. Honestly, he did—very hard, in fact. It didn't feel right at all; it was a ten on the wrongness scale, but damn it, he made an attempt to relax.

Coulson felt vulnerable without the suit and a comm unit but at least he had his trademark shades. Sitting poolside with an alcoholic beverage was a nice perk. On one occasion, he'd uncharacteristically drank a bit too much and woke up the following morning in the middle of the back patio covered in sand with his shirt missing. Walks along the shore, especially when the sun began to set, was calming enough. And hell, the place had some fantastic cuisine. The WiFi connectivity was great, and although Fury had barred him from everything work related, Coulson spent afternoons browsing eBay to replace the aforementioned ruined vintage Captain America trading cards.

But the routine could only last for so long.

Even in the midst of a tropical paradise, Coulson wanted the familiar sights and sounds of SHIELD back. It was hard to believe, but he missed the crappy coffee, the pesky interns, and the occupational dangers. More than that, he missed his colleagues and doing work that made him feel useful. And it was kind of unfair that he was vacationing while everyone else was left under the impression that he had not survived. So, when Fury called him out of the blue to say he was sending along a rather unusual file, Coulson practically drooled at the prospect. It didn't mean hightailing it off the island to the nearest SHIELD base, but it was something.

"Unusual?" he asked. "No offense, sir, but _unusual_ isn't a very effective term as of late."

"Yeah, well, you'll want to take a look at it," Fury said. "It might redefine unusual for you."

"Is the world at stake here?"

"Stark and Dr. Banner don't seem to think so, but I have my doubts. I'll let you decide for yourself. It's…unlike anything we've dealt with in the past. It's important that we monitor the situation as best we can. I trust you to oversee the case from here on out."

"Thank you, sir," Coulson said. "I'll get right on it."

The file, in hard-copy paper form, appeared on the doorstep of his villa the next morning. It was a file in the loosest of terms possible—an already thick stack of paperwork the size of a manuscript crammed into two manila folders. Another envelope was attached and marked as photographic documentation. He scooped all of it up (ignoring that damned twinge in his back) and carried it to the table near the pool where he had just finished breakfast.

Under the shade of the umbrella with the waves crashing against the shore, Coulson first learned about Project Amalgamation.

And, all right, it was strange.

Really, really strange.

But, in a twisted way, it was actually kind of…amazing? Sure, the idea of creating a human life with not-so-human qualities was a liability for SHIELD, but on paper, her progress was incredible. She had a projected genius IQ and her potential strengths and abilities were off the charts. All of the power of the world's newest super team packed into one individual? If The Avengers raised her right and SHIELD gave her the necessary tools and additional training (if she wanted it), she could do a lot of good for the world.

Anything—or, well, _anyone_—that came from the combined efforts of The Avengers was okay in Coulson's book.

He was under the assumption that the team had made more an impression on him than he did with them, which was all right. Coulson had a large amount of respect and admiration for what they had done. He wasn't the type to seek out recognition for his work. It was his job, he did it, and he went on his way.

But then Coulson saw her full name printed in the file. And he didn't know what to think. There was a ridiculous amount of last names, because it seemed that they couldn't (or wouldn't) make a definitive answer and also because she shared the entire team's DNA. The business of choosing her last name was as complex as her genetic coding. Her middle name, however, was what made him pause. He read it several times, let his eyes wander over the letters, take it all in, just to make sure what was on the page was correct.

_AMELIA 'AMY' COULSON _

He felt his jaw drop a little. His mind raced and the piece of paper went a bit blurry for a moment. Coulson cleared his throat and averted his eyes to the waves against the sand before he let them rove across the paper again.

_AMELIA 'AMY' COULSON _

_COULSON_

They had given her _his name_. Why? Sure, he'd helped in the team's assembly, but he hadn't done it solely on his own. Why honor _him_, of all people? It was, well…he didn't know what to make of it. They had created this wonderful, unbelievable little girl and then let her have his name as hers. Coulson was a workaholic SHIELD agent with all thoughts of having a family distant from his mind. It wasn't possible nor safe or even a good idea at this point.

And suddenly, he had a _namesake_.

Someone in this crazy, unusual, vast world shared his name. She wasn't just any someone, either, she was…she was the daughter of heroes, of greatness, of…everything he knew they could be if they joined forces. She would be (someday) an Avenger. Coulson wasn't an Avenger, but for some reason, the people he admired unconditionally had considered him important enough to name the child they loved most after _him_.

He pushed the paper aside and reached for the envelope of photographs. The ones at the top of the stack were more recent—full of smiles and grumpy faces and dark curly hair and shining blue eyes. There was a picture of her asleep, curled against Agent Barton's chest, which was something Coulson never thought he'd see. She was so damn cute it was difficult to remember she was going to grow up to be a powerhouse of human and non-human ability. He found himself wondering about her personality, her likes and dislikes, the sound of her voice making nonsense words. If anything, he wanted to see the team taking on parenthood, which was another thing he thought would never happen so soon.

Coulson knew he would meet her. Someday.

If his job was to watch over and protect this little girl, he would do it, wholeheartedly. Without question.

Amelia was so much more to him than his job, another case, another day in his life of being an agent.

She was family.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Just Amy. **

**A/N: So. I saw IM3 yesterday and wow. I got nostalgic for my long-neglected fic (I know, I know, I'm awful at keeping up...) and I remembered I wrote this. It's been in my documents for awhile now. I figured I might as well just post it. I'm not too sure of the timeline here, but Amy's in her teens. Enjoy!**

* * *

He recognized her in an instant, ambling down the sidewalk outside the diner in a confident, powerful stride that was all Agent Romanoff. Her head was bent over a scrap of paper which he guessed contained the address of the meeting place he'd passed along to her. She paused in front of the door, stuffed the paper into her pocket, and breezed through the entrance. He found himself subconsciously holding his breath—it was one thing to have committed her file to memory, but it was an entirely different matter seeing her face-to-face. He noticed a hint of Agent Barton in her sharp eyes while she took in the warmth of the quaint eatery, scanning tables for him. He was hidden underneath a not-so-inconspicuous Captain America baseball cap and wondered if she would be able to figure things out. There was a meek sort of hesitation in the way she sought out the nearest waitress to ask for him—reminiscent of Banner, he knew.

She followed the waitress' index finger down the aisle toward his table in the corner near a window. He felt himself tense as she neared, hands clasped in front of his mug of coffee. There was a bit more hesitation before she placed one hand on the surface of the table. His head was lowered over the menu.

"S'cuse me, sir," she said. Her voice was sweet with a playful edge. It was easy for him to see that the polite 'sir,' tacked on the end was all Steve's doing. "I think you're waiting for me?"

He smiled though she couldn't see it underneath the shadow of the baseball cap. It felt strange to him to finally be in her presence. To hear her speak. Her file was unbelievable; there was a certain surreal feeling to the situation. All of that superhuman ability packed into one seemingly normal-looking teenager.

"Have a seat," he offered.

She slid into the booth across from him like a baby animal taking its first cautious steps. He noticed that was evident in all her movements, afraid of what kind of damage she could inflict on her surroundings. With a quick glance around, he tugged off the cap and placed it beside him. He met her gaze with a kind, easy grin, wrapping one hand around the side of his mug. Her face contorted into a mix of wide-eyed shock and surprise. She retreated back into the lumpy cushion of the booth and stared at him with her jaw hanging open.

"I can't tell you what an honor it is to finally meet you," Coulson said.

"But—you're—everyone said—"

"Turns out I'm a bit tougher than I give myself credit for," he explained. "It was touch-and-go for awhile there but I stuck it out." He shrugged and took a sip of coffee. It was uncomfortable bringing up those memories.

Amelia had yet to close her mouth. She blinked. "Does anyone else know? What…_happened_?"

"Director Fury orchestrated the whole thing, figured faking my death would work out best. The Avengers put up quite a fight in response. I recovered, laid low…I'm not one to settle down, so I kept tabs on SHIELD's operations."

"I'm sure Fury _loved_ that." Amelia rolled her eyes. And there it was, the famous Tony Stark sarcasm. Coulson couldn't help but smirk.

"Exactly," he agreed. "Then, I came across your file…needless to say, I was intrigued."

"Are you sure 'horrified' isn't a better adjective?" she countered. "Dad says SHIELD went through hell doing damage control."

"On paper, you're—" he struggled, trying to come up with words, "you're incredible. Intelligence off the charts, superhuman strength, resilience…an impressive skill set to boot."

Amelia scratched the back of her neck nervously, and there was good 'ole Captain America peeking through again, sheepish when being talked about. She picked up a sugar packet at the center of the table and started fidgeting with it.

"Half the time I don't even know what to do with all this," she replied. "It seems like a lot to live up to."

Coulson took another sip of coffee. "I don't think you have to worry about that, Amelia."

"Well, it's no picnic, I can assure you."

"No, it's often not. Neither is the life of an agent."

Amelia bowed her head slightly in understanding. Coulson watched the sugar spill out onto the table when her less-than-careful hands ripped through the thin paper package.

"But," he announced slowly, "in the middle of all the chaos and bad days, there's always a shining light somewhere at the end of the tunnel."

Amelia quirked an eyebrow in question, as if disbelieving. The taunting expression was eerily similar, for a split second, to Loki.

"Getting up in the morning for decent coffee, for one," he laughed, and was pleased when she followed suit. "How about you? Hungry?"

"Starving," she giggled.

Coulson watched in something that resembled awe while Amelia ate her breakfast, his fork poised over his plate of ham and eggs. _Attacked_ probably would have been a better word for it. She had an appetite fit for anyone who happened to be part Asgardian god, not to mention lightning fast metabolism. Plates of short stack pancakes, scrambled eggs smothered in ketchup, and bacon strips and sausage links swimming in maple syrup were spread across the table. Amy shoveled down her eggs with ravenous hunger and then swiftly apologized, her cheeks pink. Coulson just laughed and told her not to worry. While Thor had always been lacking in excuses for his brutal eating habits, he was sure Steve, Bruce, and Natasha had taken care to teach Amy manners.

He pulled out his wallet and snatched the bill before Amy could think of it. She opened her mouth to protest but he waved his hand, leaving enough for the bill and a generous tip on the table.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Gotta catch up for all those years you didn't get birthday presents. Official godfather duties and all that. There's gotta be a handbook somewhere."

He pushed the baseball cap back on and pocketed his wallet. Amelia shook her head with a smile. "You don't _have_ to…"

"No, but I do like the title," Coulson replied.

He stood and Amelia trailed after him until they were side-by-side out the door. He watched Amy rock and forth back on her heels on the sidewalk, hands in the pockets of her jeans. There was a look of wonder in her eyes upon meeting the bustling New York atmosphere again. He forgot she didn't spend much time outside the Tower. She turned her gaze back on him with a lopsided grin. He felt her elbow knock into his lightly.

"Thanks for breakfast, Uncle Phil."

Coulson placed a hand on her shoulder. Heat crept into the tops of his ears at the new designation. It was like finding out her middle name all over again.

"_Uncle Phil_," he echoed. "It has a nice ring to it."

"It suits you."

"You think?" he asked. Amelia nodded. "C'mon, I got a ride for us back to the Tower, compliments of SHIELD. In the time it'll take us to get across the city you can catch me up on things."

"Game of favorites?" she suggested. He saw the sleek black SUV pull up alongside the curb and rushed to get the back door for her.

"Sounds like a good idea."


End file.
